Across the Wormhole
by ZuluAlphaCharlie
Summary: 'One moment I'm stood on the streets of New York, in the middle of a hurricane, and the next I'm face to face with a fictional character. Now I'm having an anxiety attack and I think I'm going to be sick.' An OC, Semi-self-insert story set at the beginning of ME3 with a few plot alteration.


**Disclaimer: The only thing I own is me. Although I'm pretty sure the government would disagree with that.**

I got a little tired of self-insert stories being rushed and people really trying to inflate their egos with suddenly being superhuman, I wanted to take a more realistic approach to how someone would react if they suddenly woke up inside a parallel/alternate universe that is getting closer to it's inevitable demise at the hands of thousands of giant sentient machines. Not saying I'm better than these other writers, I just wanted a different perspective to the scenario and seeing as I couldn't find it, I decided to write it.

_Author's note: I haven't written anything in 5+ years so I apologise for being a tad rusty. Any feedback would be appreciated. Thanks and I hope you enjoy._

* * *

I step out of the elevator with an audible drag of my feet, seeing my apartment door and the eventual escape from the abysmal day I've just had. Unlocking the door and pushing it open with more strength than was intended, I wince slightly as I realise and don't even attempt to stop the inevitable damage the door will do against the white wall of my apartment as it crashes open. Walking in and slamming the door closed behind me, I'm not even going to bother checking the damage, it won't be discernible from the other marks I've made throughout my 3 years living here anyway.

"Today was a completely useless waste of energy" I say aloud as I fall onto my plush dark leather sofa, I start rubbing my hands over my face as if it'll remove all the days stress.

After a few moments and much protest from my exhausted body, I stand up and pause. Looking around at my apartment, I'm not entirely certain what I should do with myself. Then I decide that the only suitable thing to do at 6pm is go straight to bed. So I do. Stripping down to my boxers as I walk to my bedroom, I contemplate my surroundings and even though today was all-in-all a pretty terrible day, I can't really complain about my life. I'm very privileged to have this life, not acquitting my own hard work, but I can't deny the fortunate circumstances that I was afforded at birth.

I was born in England, Yorkshire to be exact, 22 years ago. My father was 6 years into his military career as a Sergeant Major and my mother was already trying to deal with my 4 and 2 years old brothers. I moved around a lot as a kid because of my dads job; Germany, Cyprus, the Netherlands just to name a few. I was never really a spectacular kid, I've always been relatively average. Average intelligence, average looks, just average. Got into plenty of trouble though, I was the adventurous type who didn't know when to shut his mouth. So not much just has changed in that retrospect.

I walk into the bathroom, splash some water on my face from the sink and then grab a hand towel to dry myself off. Staring at myself in the large mirror I can visibly see the dark circles that have been gradually building over the last few months and my dark auburn hair tousled from the relentless storm raging on the streets of New York. I run my hands over the 2 day stubble that I have no intention of removing yet, mostly due to laziness. I'm not a bad looking guy. Dark blue eyes, high cheek bones and thin lips. I've been compared to Rupert Grint and Ed Sheeran on multiple occasion, not sure if that's a good or bad thing. I'm about 5' 11" give or take a millimetre, and I'm of more a broad shouldered, stockier build. Unlike my 6 foot tall, stick insect older brothers.

Striding back into my bedroom I can't help but wonder when the last time I called either of my brothers, none of us have tried that hard to keep in contact since I moved to New York but I can't really blame any of us, we're all getting on with our lives. James is in the middle of doing his Phd in Astrophysics at Oxford University, Thomas is in his first year of marriage with his first child on the way and I'm the newly appointed production manager at the St James' Theatre.

As I get into bed, sliding under the thick covers, my mind wanders back to the events of the day and how utterly pointless it all was. We're at the start of a new production and so naturally everyone's just trying to get themselves settled in but there's a hurricane warning issued up and down the East coast as of yesterday morning and it's really increased the tension at the theatre. We spent all day doing absolutely jack shit waiting for news on whether or not it'd be safer to wait out the storm, well actually I've spent all day getting an earful from the theatres owner, Mr. Whitehall, about how much money postponing production will cost him. I'm so glad his wife, Gracie, is actually in charge of the place because she's a sweetheart. She sent us all home with few days off while we wait out the storm. I have no intention of moving from this bed until then. As I stifle a yawn, I pull the covers up to my chin and settle in for a much needed rest.

* * *

_**THREE HOURS LATER**_

I awoke to a thunderous crash. Jumping out of my bed (_**and my skin) **_I clumsily make my way through the dark hallway towards the living room and the origin of the sound. Making my way into the living room I see the city lights pouring in through the window, and after a moment I realise it's not the only thing pouring in. The large window covering the majority of the only outer wall of the open-planned living room/kitchen has smashed spraying glass all over the hard wood floors and letting the heavy wind accelerated rain surge in like a river that has broken it's banks. I quickly put on some shoes to protect my feet from the glass and rush towards the window getting stung by the rain that hits my exposed skin as I frantically try to figure out what could have caused a 12th storey window to have shattered so violently. Fighting against the watery onslaught I force my head out of the gap to look down on the street for anything and to my surprise there's a person stood across the street from my apartment just standing there and staring my way.

"HEY!" I try to shout above the deafening noise of the storm. Before I can say anything else the figure just turns and begins to casually walk away. "WAIT!" I shout after them but they just continue at their leisurely pace. I back away from the window. "That's person is fucking mental, just heedlessly going for a stroll during a bloody hurricane". I lean forward again following the path the mysterious figure took and there they are, stood at the end of the street just staring at my apartment again. "What is going on?". Without another thought I run down the hall to my bedroom, throwing on whatever clothes I can find. Sweatpants and a hoody, that'll do. I am English after all, rain to me is like the sun to Superman.

I run towards the front door, throwing it open and making a b-line for the elevator. "Bollocks!" I exclaim as I notice the red flashing emergency light above the elevator doors. "Stairs it is, 12 storeys, we've got this". I run across the hall and through the door to the stairs. I take the steps 2 at a time, trying not to kill myself on the way. After a few minutes I reach the bottom and with a few heavy intakes of breathe I make my way outside onto the street, searching where the person last stood I see that they're gone. I begin to move as fast as my burning calves will allow and proceed towards the end of the street. Turning the corner and continuing down the street, I begin searching again, but the streets are clear. I'm now the only idiot outside during a category 2 hurricane. Shaking my head at my own utter stupidity I turn on my heels and start to make my retreat, however as I round the corner back onto my street I collide with something solid that knocks me to the pavement which causes my head to bounce off of the curb and suddenly I feel terribly nauseous. I open my eyes but I can't seem to focus and the rain isn't helping. After a few seconds I hear someone talking, I have to strain to hear them over the incessant pounding in my ears.

"Don't worry, the boss will take care of that" It's a man's voice, not high or low, but it's definitely not a voice you could listen to for long. You can almost feel the arrogance emanating from this guy. The next thing I know I'm being hauled over someone's shoulder and carried off. The movement and they're shoulder digging into my stomach isn't helping me in the slightest, I'm trying to keep myself from painting this persons back when the edges of my eyesight start to fade to black and then..

* * *

I started coming back to the land of the conscious and I tried to open my eyes, yet after being confronted with a bright white light I quickly slammed my eyes shut. Suddenly I was forcibly aware of the intense throbbing in my head. Deciding to rely on my other senses I took a big inhalation of air through my nose and was hit with the undeniable smell of.. clean. Once my head decided to grant me some mercy I could hear beeping and the sound of someone typing, not like keyboard typing, more like on a touch screen. Giving my eyes another chance I slowly tried to adjust my eyes to the brightness of the room, with very little progress. After a little while longer and still a lack of progress I made an involuntary groan of frustration that caught me by surprise, and apparently I wasn't the only one as I hear the steady typing stop suddenly and then footsteps moving closer.

"Are you awake?" I hear a soft feminine voice with the irrefutable sound of an English accent ask me and I can't help but grin a little. "I'm going to take that as a yes". I try to speak but find my mouth feels like it's full of cotton balls, instead I turn my head to try and evade the light that reminds me of a fedora wearing "nice guy" who has just come across an attractive girl that likes the same bizzaro crap he does. I just want it to leave me alone. "Oh my! I am so sorry, let me get this out of your face" Suddenly the blinding light is gone and even though it still takes me a good while, finally the world comes back into focus.

"Water" I force out the word as I try to take in my surroundings. The room is small and I'm on a bed in the far corner, I can see a desk at the front and what I assume to be storage cupboards against the back wall. As I continue to scan the room I can feel a stiffness in my neck that feels weeks old. "How long have I been out?" I ask the woman who's back is to me.

"Ah, another Brit! It's been a while since I've come across another out here. You've been unconscious for 2 weeks, as the report says, but you were only transferred here yesterday morning" She turns and walks to towards me. She's an older woman with soft features and grey hair. It's not hard to tell that she was undeniably a gorgeous woman in her younger years and probably still is to certain crowds. She places a cup on the table beside my bed. "Let's get you sitting up, no doubt you're going to be feeling very stiff for a little while after the lack of movement". I begin to lift myself up as she assists in swinging my legs around and off the edge of the bed, she then picks the cup up she had previously settle down and she hands it to me with a soft smile. I take it slowly and bring it to my lips, my hands shaking uncontrollably the whole time. With a sip of water I can't help but close my eyes and savour the feeling of the ice cold liquid as it rushes down my throat.

"What happened?" I ask as I gradually open my eyes again.

"Well, I'm not sure how they got you or why but I can tell you that the Commander and her team found you in one of their labs and once they noticed that you were still alive and the station secured EDI and myself were sent over to extract you safely back to the ship".

"Wait. _They _had me?" I ask utterly confused.

She has a sympathetic look on her face as she answers. "Cerberus".

"Cerberus? As in the three-headed dog that guards the underworld?" Confused isn't even beginning to cover what I'm feeling, although there's something.. familiar about all this.

"Well, yes. That would be one understanding. But I mean in terms of the organisation" She replies looking almost as puzzled as I am.

"Organisation?" I questioned as I started to feel uneasy. She looks at me with what I can only describe as bewilderment and then she's pulling over some machine with a kind of doughnut shape hanging off of it, which she places perfectly over my head so that it lines up just above my eyes.

"Stay still". She orders gently.

"Umm.. what are you doing?" I inquire.

"Checking for any sign of significant damage to the brain" She responds as the machine emits a sharp beeping noise and her brows begin to furrow. She then gives me a quizzical look. "How are you feeling uhm.. oh I never actually asked your name. I'm so sorry". She gives me an apologetic look before she removes the doughnut shaped machine from my head.

"Uh.. my name is Zac Stanford. I'm feeling alright, I suppose. A bit stiff, my head aches a little and I'm kind of hungry" I answer taking a large swig of my water.

"I'm Dr. Karin Chakwas, Chief Medical Officer on the SSV Normandy" She responds with a proud smile. "The reports say you had a pretty nasty blow to the back of the head but Cerberus' medical team fixed you up. We'll get you some food once I've done a few more checks". I'm staring at her mouth agape and eyes like a deer in headlights.

"Yeah, you should definitely do a lot more checks because either I'm losing my bloody mind or.." My words trail off as my brain fights to make sense of my situation. There's no way on Gods green Earth that this is what I think it is. This has to be an extremely vivid dream or I'm currently sat in a padded cell. There's just no plausible way that this could be happening. I can feel my heart pounding hard in my chest and hear the sound of blood pumping in my ears. Breathing becomes a struggle and I feel as though I'm going to pass out. I toss the now empty cup aside and I grip onto the edge of the bed for some stability and I can feel my hands tremble as I hold onto the cool metal frame. I try to focus but my mind just continues to spiral out of my control.

"Doctor. I have recorded a sudden spike in the patients heart rate" A melodious voice comes seemingly from nowhere and my mind has already put a name to the voice. To confirm my suspicion Dr. Chakwas replies.

"Thank you, EDI" Chakwas moves closer to me and gives me a look of genuine concern. After a few seconds it seems realisation hits her. "You're having an anxiety attack" she states. "Just focus on me and try to imitate my breathing". She begins to take slow deep breaths and I fight to copy her, my breath coming out slow and broken. From behind Dr. Chakwas I hear the sound of releasing pressure, the slide of a door, followed by heavy booted footstep coming closer.

"What's going on? EDI sent me a message to get to the Med Bay A.S.A.P." A strong but feminine voice comes out from behind the doctor as I continue to tackle my unrelenting panic. My eyes shift from the doctors as the person comes into view over her shoulder and my already staggered breath seems to catch in my throat. Standing before me is none other than Commander Jane Shepard. Her auburn hair pulled back into a short ponytail, her sharp features and bright green eyes set in an expression I couldn't decipher.

_Yep. I've lost my mind._


End file.
